


If No One Is Around to Hear It

by i_am_your_khaleesi



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-23 00:53:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/920061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_am_your_khaleesi/pseuds/i_am_your_khaleesi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His feet don't leave imprints in the grass, he has no breath to warm your skin, no pulse to lull you, but he's still there with you, and that's all that matters. Right? / In which Dave is desperate, and John isn't quite all there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If No One Is Around to Hear It

**Author's Note:**

> based on a comic (might enter the reference later), a little gift for my friend (gamzadoodle-makarkles). doesn't make much sense but I don't care.

He’s late again. Some fucking boyfriend.

Not a whole lot to look at here. At least nothing you haven’t already seen. You watch crows hop along the grass, beaks open, making no sound. Or maybe you just can’t hear it anymore. Fresh flowers, wilting flowers, fake ones; all in neat little rows against their stone perches. You adjust your shades as they slip down your nose, wincing at the light that catches your eye for a brief moment-- Washington has no right to be sunny, this is the land of eternal precipitation and gloom, yet here you are, being blinded and chilled by the wind at your back. You glance down at your feet, sighing softly. Same old stuff you’ve been staring at for the past six years, you could maneuver your way through this cemetery with your eyes closed…

Suddenly, the breeze at your back shifts, and you shiver. It takes a few moments for you to realize, oh, he’s here, and you hop off Mr. Cadwallader’s tombstone.

“Sorry, keep you waiting?” John gives you a sheepish little smile, and you know he really isn’t sorry, but you’re not annoyed in the least. You can still give him hell for it, though.

“All this time I thought you were a right gentleman,” you start, and he cracks up, predictably, “But here I sit, twiddlin’ my thumbs--”

“I said I’m sorry!” he wails, stumbling his way closer as he tries to double over in his laughter.

“--and you swagger over to me with your scraggle-toothed ass and that douchey flannel, all ‘so sorry for the inconvenience!’ As if. This girl is done. Call me when you’ve become a real man.”

He winds his arms around your neck, and you try not to wince-- he’s here, he’s with you, there’s nothing wrong-- but he gives you that sweet little smile and it makes your heart melt all over again.

“However can I make it up to you?” he drawls, blue eyes bright. You hum and smile back and mumble something about Scarlet O’Hara’s lace panties and then you’re hugging him. 

You think that you should feel something. Well, you do; you feel your chest tighten as he relaxes against you, the back of your throat working around a little whine, because you love this boy, you really do. But it always worries you, how you can never feel him. There’s pressure, sure, like a weight where his hands fall, when he presses against you. But no warmth. There are little things you were never really aware of before; you could never feel the thrumming of a person’s pulse until you kissed someone with no heartbeat. When he talks, there’s no breath that makes your skin feel a little damp or fogs up your shades. It’s just John, your John, but then again it’s not.

“Dave?” he whispers, and your heart sinks.

Or maybe you do feel something. You can sense his presence; his energy, the way he’s taking up the space around you both. You hold him even tighter, and yes, it’s there. It’s thick and warm, fills you up in all your empty spaces between your fingers in your lungs squished between your organs and pumping into your fucking blood it’s John you fell in love and he loves you too it’s coating those sticky rotted holes in your heart that he left when he died and you miss him even when he’s right in front of you he’s gone gone gone--

“I,” you croak, throat sore as it works around a sob, “I miss you, John.”

“Dave?” that’s not his voice this time. The aura around you both goes sour and you can practically taste it; all that bitterness and longing just make her go away so we can have a little more time. You jump and lurch backwards, a couple of stray tears moving along your skin. Your scarlet eyes dry quickly and your throat loosens up.

“Rose, fuck.”

“You’ve been out here for a while. I thought it might be a good idea to at least check up on you,” her painted lips purse, much like yours do when you want to try and keep your words succinct. You glance at the tombstone between all three of you, the fresh orchids lying on the loamy ground. She’s right; the sun is practically setting now, you could’ve sworn it was just past noon last time you fucking blinked.

You’re exhausted.  There’s another gentle spurt of wind that leaves you shaking, and you level Rose with a half-hearted glare before you turn back to him.

“Well, fuckin’-A, looks like I gotta--…” you stop and set your jaw when you see that John’s gone again., no imprints on the ground, not a dead leaf or wilted flower out of place. Rose shifts at your side, reaches for your hand, and you let your fingers brush briefly before you start your way up the little hill.

“We can come back tomorrow,” she calls out after you. You nod, and roll your shoulders, trying to remember that gentle weight on your chest, but it’s gone and you’re too tired to even try. Tomorrow, yeah.

**Author's Note:**

> are you confused yet. I actually really want to continue this, provide more backstory then move on... I have some wonderfully evil ideas in mind for them. like some 'good-soul-gone-bad' stuff, mmhmm.
> 
> lemme know if I should even bother.


End file.
